Race for Freedom

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  Libby turned back. Tears blurred her vision, and she could not speak.

  “When my parents died, I lived with Gran,” Caleb explained. “She needed to earn money to support both of us. Your pa gave Gran a job as head pastry cook on the Christina. He even gave me a chance to earn money as a cabin boy.”

  Caleb leaned forward as though wanting to make sure Libby understood. “Your pa is kind, Libby. He’s the kindest man I know. That’s why he cares so much about what happens to slaves.”

  Already Libby had learned about the unusual arrangement between Caleb and her father. Because they believed the same way about slavery, Pa trusted Caleb to help runaways. Without talking about every fugitive that came to the Christina, Pa agreed with what Caleb did to protect them. That in turn protected Pa when slave catchers tried to question him.

  Libby swallowed hard against the fresh torrent of tears that would destroy her. Again she turned away.

  “Look at me, Libby.” Caleb sounded much older than his fourteen years. He waited until she met his gaze. “Your pa does his best to be careful. He doesn’t take any foolish chances. But you’re forgetting something. It’s God who takes care of him.”

  God? Libby thought. How can God be enough protection for Pa?

  “Your Pa is like a father to me, Libby.” Caleb’s voice was soft now. “Like a real Pa. If something hurts him, it would hurt me too.”

  Libby swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Caleb,” she said, choking on the words.

  As she headed for the stairs, great sobs tore at Libby’s throat. By the time she reached the texas deck, she could barely see the way. Inside her room Libby threw herself facedown on the bed.

  No! Nothing will happen to Pa! Sobs ripped through Libby’s body. He’ll stand up for what he believes, but nothing will happen to him!

  By the time Libby stopped crying, dusk had settled around the Christina. The beautiful white steamboat had put out from St. Louis without her even noticing.

  Libby stumbled to her feet and splashed water over her face. Her skin was blotchy and her eyes swollen, but she was glad that Caleb had explained.

  At the sound of scratching, Libby looked through the window. Samson stood on the other side, and Libby opened the door. Dropping to her knees, she threw her arms around his neck.

  When Pa had given her the Newfoundland, she hadn’t wanted the monstrous dog. Now he seemed like the best friend in the whole world. As though understanding that Libby felt upset, Samson stretched out his long tongue and tried to lick her face. Libby edged back. “Oh, ick!”

  Samson’s wide grin stretched from ear to ear. In spite of the comfort he gave, Libby’s thoughts leapfrogged ahead. Where does Jordan hide? she wondered for the one hundredth time. If I could find his secret place, I’d know where any fugitive might be.

  In the middle of the night, Libby woke up feeling cold right into her bones. Shivering, she pulled her quilts over her head, curled up into a ball, and tried to go back to sleep.

  Yet sleep would not come to her. Even here, high on the texas deck, she felt a slight vibration from the paddle wheels. What was it like for Mr. Meyer, sleeping on the woodpile and feeling the vibration in every bone?

  And Mrs. Meyer. If she leaned back in her sleep, she would only fall into the cow. But what about Elsa? Had she stayed away from the edge of the deck?

  Her new friend looked too pale, and thin besides. Libby dreaded the cold the family would find as they steamed north. Even here, a short distance above St. Louis, the damp night air crept through the windows. With no heat in her room, Libby had nothing but quilts to stop her shivers. Does Elsa have even that?

  Libby tried to remember the size of the family’s trunk. It carried food, as well as tools for a new life. How many quilts could it hold? Not many, Libby knew, if any at all.

  They’ll gather around the stove in their deck room, Libby told herself. In that way, too, her father had been unusual, wanting to make a place for deckers to warm themselves. Yet those who claimed first right would not give up their space.

  I could bring Elsa a quilt. As quickly as the idea came, Libby pushed it aside. The farther north we go, the colder I’ll be. I’ll need every quilt I have.

  As Libby turned over, the dry corn shucks in her mattress rustled. The ropes stretched across the bed frame kept her mattress comfortable. Every morning Libby tightened those ropes when she made her bed.

  Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite! Libby almost giggled. And if they do, hit ’em with a shoe!

  Snuggling down, she felt grateful for the way Pa cared for her. Then a question came. Does that mean Elsa’s father doesn’t care for her?

  Again Libby pushed away the thought. Mr. Meyer was doing everything he could. Like other immigrants, he and his family wanted to leave their old life behind. They had given up all they had for their dream of a better life in America.

  Ashamed of herself now, Libby swung her feet out of bed. When she touched the cold floor, her toes tingled. Quickly she dressed, then fumbled in the dark to pull her warmest quilt off the bed.

  Quietly she opened her door. Samson lay on the deck outside. As Libby started down the stairs, he followed.

  When she reached the main deck, Libby found it even more crowded than during the day. By the light of the moon, she saw people huddled wherever they could find a space.

  Deep shadows made it hard to know where all of them were. As Libby struggled to find her way, she stepped on someone.

  “Ouch!” he muttered. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “Sorry!” Libby said, and kept on. But when she stepped on someone else, she knew it was no use. Bending down, she spoke into Samson’s ear. “Find Elsa.”

  Between barrels, crates, and sleeping bodies Samson picked his way. Wherever he stepped, Libby followed. When they came to the long, sheet-iron stove provided for the deckers, Libby saw it was just as she feared. Everyone who could get around the stove was there, but Elsa was not among them.

  Samson led Libby on, and at last they came to the Meyer family. Mr. Meyer lay on top of the bumpy woodpile. Mrs. Meyer sat on the trunk with her back against the cow, and Elsa was squeezed in beside her. With her mother’s arm around her, Elsa hugged herself as if to find warmth. Her eyes were wide open as she trembled with cold.

  Quickly Libby placed the quilt around her. As Libby tucked it in, Elsa moved the quilt so that it also covered her mother.

  “Danke, Libby.” Elsa’s teeth chattered. “I cannot say enough thanks.”

  As Libby turned to leave, she remembered how close the family was to the engine room. Maybe it’d be easier going through there, she thought. At least there’d be a space to walk. She could go in the door on the deck side and out through the cargo area.

  Built directly in front of a paddle wheel, the engine room vibrated with its own noise and the slap of the great paddle wheels. Here and there a lantern hung, giving men light to work.

  Libby and Samson slipped past them, moving without sound. One man raised his hand, waving to Libby. The others kept on working.

  Soon Libby passed through the second door into the cargo room. Near the machinery at the edge of that area, Libby noticed an open hatch. The wooden door swung up, creating a hole in the floor.

  Strange, Libby thought. I’ve never seen that hatch before. Stepping back, she looked at it. How is it usually hidden?

  Nearby was a small but heavy-looking piece of machinery. As though to give it more strength, the machine was mounted on a piece of wood. Curious now, Libby took a lantern from the engine room and brought it close.

  Setting the lantern on the floor, she knelt down. With both hands she pushed at the wood base under the machinery. Suddenly it moved!

  Hardly daring to hope, Libby tested it out. Sure enough, the machine moved with little effort on her part.

  With growing excitement, Libby held up the lantern again. If the hatch was closed, the machine could be swung into place over the hatch!

  I�
��ve got it! Libby thought. She wanted to sing, to dance, to shout. I’ve found Jordan’s hiding place! Now Caleb would have to let her take part in the Underground Railroad.

  Filled with glee, Libby held the lantern over the hole. A ladder led downward and disappeared into the darkness. The space below lay between the outside of the hull and a bulkhead, the long wooden piece that ran the length of the Christina. Libby knew that each section between bulkheads needed its own hatch.

  Somehow someone had made a secret room, or possibly more than one room. Whatever had been done, Riggs and those who searched must have missed this hidden space in the hull.

  For the first time, Libby wondered why the hatch had been left open. To give a way of escape? To protect fugitives from being trapped? If the Christina crashed into something, the hold would fill immediately with water.

  Libby knew that Caleb trusted Osborne, the chief engineer. Did Osborne hire only men who would not talk about the secret hideaway?

  With the lantern still in her hand, Libby stretched out her foot and placed it on a rung of the ladder. Then she realized she couldn’t climb a ladder without using both hands.

  Setting the lantern as close to the hole as she dared, Libby started down. Above her Samson woofed softly, as though warning her not to go. Peering into the hole, he stood like a guard, watching over her.

  About five feet down, Libby stepped onto the floor of the hull. The space was narrow, perhaps only three or four feet wide. Samson stretched out his paw, setting it on the first rung of the ladder.

  “Stay,” Libby said, afraid that he would hurt himself if he jumped into the small space. Samson stepped back, but whimpered, wanting to follow.

  “Stay,” Libby commanded again. Samson flopped down on his stomach, giving Libby more light. Barely able to see, she looked around.

  On one side Libby felt the deep, wood beams of the hull. On the other side was the strong, wooden bulkhead that stretched from bow to stern. Neither of these could possibly have an opening.

  On the remaining two sides, Libby felt solid wood. There has to be a door! she thought. Or maybe two doors, one on each side. Doors that open into a hiding place!

  Standing next to the ladder, Libby looked up. Only a faint glow from the lantern shone down the hole. Using the tiny bit of light, Libby turned to the solid wall on her left.

  Stretching as high as she could reach, Libby moved her hands across the wood. Finding nothing, she moved her hands down, again going from one side to the other. Whenever her fingers found an uneven spot, she pressed the wood and felt all around it, hoping for a hidden latch.

  She had almost reached the bottom of the wall when Samson whined. Looking up, Libby saw him on his feet, as though warning her. Moments later Libby heard footsteps. Quickly she backed away from the ladder. As she crouched in the deepest shadow, she heard a voice.

  “Looking for mice?” a man asked Samson.

  Mice? Libby thought.

  Again Samson whined, as though pleading with Libby to come up. In the next instant, she heard the thud of the hatch dropping down. As darkness closed in around her, a scream rose in Libby’s throat.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hidden Monsters

  Just as quickly, Libby swallowed her scream. I can’t make noise! she told herself over and over.

  I’m not supposed to be down here! What if there’s danger? What if someone closed the hatch because the Christina is being searched?

  Whatever she did, Libby could not give the hiding place away. Yet terror welled up within her. A terror unlike anything she had ever known.

  Trying to calm herself, Libby drew a deep breath, but her panic did not disappear. Instead, she started shaking.

  I want to have courage, Libby thought. But how do I get courage in a place like this?

  As though to protect herself, Libby covered her face with her hands. When she felt her fingers tremble against her eyes, she knew how frightened she was.

  In the next moment, Libby found herself praying as she had seldom prayed before. Can God see me down in this dark hole? Does He know how scared I am?

  If only Samson were with me. He’d try to lick my face and make me laugh.

  Then Libby knew that all her wishes wouldn’t do a bit of good. Like it or not, she had to find a way to escape.

  Feeling around in the darkness, Libby found the ladder. Taking hold with both hands, she started climbing. Soon she bumped her head on the hatch.

  Balancing herself on the ladder, Libby reached up. Using both hands, she pushed with all her strength. The hatch would not move.

  Libby pounded against the wood. Maybe it’s just stuck!

  But all her pounding did no good. Before long, Libby’s knuckles felt sore, and she had to stop.

  “Samson!” she called, forgetting that she might be heard by the wrong person. If Samson were there, he gave no answering bark.

  Then Libby remembered. It’s the middle of the night! No one will know that I’ve disappeared!

  Slowly Libby climbed back down the ladder. Using the rungs as a guide to give direction, she knelt down on the hull. Facing the wall on the left side of the ladder, she ran her hands across the bottom third. Again she pressed any small bump in the wood, searching for a secret opening.

  When at last she found it, Libby almost didn’t recognize it. Next to the floor, the opening was so small that she nearly missed it. Is it a mouse hole? Libby wondered. It had that shape. She dreaded poking her finger inside. Maybe a mouse will bite me!

  Then Libby knew she had no choice. Expecting sharp teeth to chomp down on her finger, she pushed it into the hole. On the other side of the wall, she felt a small but strong piece of wood.

  With growing excitement Libby stretched her finger as far as she could reach in either direction. A latch! It has to be a latch!

  Pushing at the wood every which way, she finally discovered the secret. As she prodded the underside of the latch, it lifted. In that instant the wall moved. When Libby pushed against the wood, it moved again.

  It’s a door! Libby thought, as the wood swung inward. Greatly relieved, she crawled through the opening.

  Feeling around, Libby tried to discover where she was. On her left were the wide, strong beams of the inside of the hull. On her right, she again felt the long, upright piece of wood that was the bulkhead. Whatever the room was, it ran along the side of the boat.

  Libby tried standing up. Taller than most girls her age, she bumped her head. When she knelt down, she found that someone had laid out planks to make a smooth floor.

  Libby started to crawl. Before long, the walls of the long, narrow space seemed to close in around her. Feeling desperate, she wondered if she’d ever find a way to escape. What if I’m locked down here forever?

  Then something scampered nearby. Libby yelped. A mouse? What is it?

  Suddenly she had no doubt that a mouse was down there with her. Hadn’t the man even said there might be mice?

  “Mice,” he said. More than one. That’s even worse.

  Panic washed over Libby. Maybe they’re looking at me right now. When I stretch out my hand, they’ll run right over it!

  Libby’s knees turned to jelly. Again she started to shake. Then, as if paralyzed, she could not move. All she could think about were the mice. “Oh, God, help me!” she cried out.

  In the darkness her voice seemed to fall away. Yet in that moment, something changed. From some place long ago—a memory Libby couldn’t quite recall—she seemed to hear words.

  “Fear thou not.”

  “Do not fear?” Libby’s heart raced with fear.

  “I am with thee.”

  “You are with me?” Libby asked. “Here in this dark hole? Here, where no one knows that I am?”

  “Be not dismayed; for I am thy God.”

  “God, is it really You?” Only then did Libby realize she had spoken aloud. “And You truly will help me?”

  From somewhere deep in her memory, the answer came. “I will strengthen thee; yea
, I will help thee.”

  Libby clung to the words. As she said them to herself, she felt stronger.

  Once more something scurried in the darkness. Something very close. Again Libby’s heart pounded. Yet instead of crying out, she kept repeating the words. Crawling on, she tried to think about God instead of her fears.

  At last Libby saw a dim light ahead of her. Soon she reached another opening like the one where she had climbed down. As Libby started up the ladder, a lantern swung down toward her face.

  “Libby!” Caleb’s voice was a whisper. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Libby’s giggle was part nervousness. She was awfully relieved to see him.

  “You’re all right?” Caleb asked as she climbed out of the hole.

  Libby looked around. She had come up outside the baggage room behind the wide stairway to the boiler deck. Only Caleb and Samson were there.

  “I’m all right now,” Libby answered.

  But Caleb looked scared. “When Samson came to me, he led me to the other hatch—the one next to the engine room.” Caleb broke off, as if remembering that Libby wasn’t supposed to know about that place.

  “Someone closed the hatch,” Libby said. “Did he swing the machinery back over the opening?”

  When Caleb nodded, Libby knew that something had changed between them. “Samson whimpered and scratched away at the base of the machine. I opened the hatch, but you weren’t there.”

  Again a scared look filled Caleb’s eyes. He was so good about hiding his feelings from slave catchers that it surprised Libby. Inside, she felt a warm glow. Caleb cares, she thought. He really cares about what happens to me. Maybe he even likes me. But she didn’t dare hope.

  “I didn’t know what happened,” Caleb went on. “You could have fallen over the side of the boat.”

  After seeing Elsa on the main deck, Libby knew how easy it was to jump to that idea. “But I didn’t,” she said. “When I got locked in, I tried to find a way out.”

  “Libby, whatever possessed you?” Caleb whispered, but he was still upset. “What possessed you to go down into the hold in the middle of the night?”